


Where Have All the Cowboys Gone?

by bellacatbee



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Acceptance, Accidental Voyeurism, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anonymous Sex, Bathroom Sex, Bisexual Dean, Cheating, Closeted Character, Closeted Dean, Coming Out, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, M/M, Mutual Pining, Not Canon Compliant, Pining Dean, Rough Sex, Season/Series 08
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-07
Updated: 2014-02-07
Packaged: 2018-01-11 13:15:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1173490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellacatbee/pseuds/bellacatbee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Gates of Hell are closed. There are no more demons, no more monsters to hunt. </p><p>Dean has to get used to living like a regular person. He tries his best, gets himself a girlfriend, sets himself up as an odd job man, but he finds himself drawn to an out of the way bar. Drawn to a dark haired man who drinks there and looks a lot like Castiel. </p><p>Now there's nowhere to run, Dean has to face the feelings and desires he's kept hidden for so long. He has to come to terms with himself and who he really is, later in life than he would have liked.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where Have All the Cowboys Gone?

**Author's Note:**

> Firstly, thank you to my Beta reader for looking this over.
> 
> Secondly, this story was written during the middle of season eight before the angels fell and it was revealed that closing the gates would kill Sam. Therefore the story takes places in an alternative universe where the gates were closed, Sam survived and Castiel returned the Heaven. I was speculating on what life would be like for Dean and Sam without hunting. 
> 
> Thirdly, this story was originally written for the Queer Bang on LJ, but due to issues it wasn't posted for the round it was written for. I decided to write about Dean coming to terms with being bisexual later in life. There is a very heavy emphasis on Castiel and Dean's attraction to him, but Dean does have a girlfriend and he does hook-up with another man for sex during the course of the story.

Things are good.

Dean tells himself that every day. There are no more monsters under the bed, no demons in the shadows. He isn’t a hunter any more. All of that has gone. You can’t hunt when there’s nothing to hunt so he’s had to find something else to do with his time. 

He told Sam they should start a side-line in burglary but Sam didn’t think he was funny. 

Dean’s diversified though. He has a job now. He’s the odd job man. There’s always someone who needs something done and Dean’s got a lot of skills. He can paint a fence, mow a lawn or build a wardrobe. He can do all those boring, everyday things that nobody else wants to do or has time to do. Sometimes he gets to do fun things, like teach someone how to shoot, but most of the time it’s menial and kind of demeaning. 

He knows people look down on him. He knows that because they have fancy cars and nice houses and because they make more money than him, they think they’re better than him. 

It isn’t true. None of them could stop an apocalypse. None of them would have their spoiled rich asses pulled from Hell. They don’t even know how much they owe him. Dean is the reason that they’re safe and alive, untroubled by monsters and they have no idea. 

But things are still good. 

He can brush those insults off. He can refuse jobs if he wants to. They’re not life or death this time. Some poor bastard will have to call a plumber to come and fix his leaks instead of paying Dean half the money to do it faster. 

Sam is going to night school. He has a steady job during the day, something that pays all the bills when Dean can’t. Dean doesn’t actively resent the fact that Sam’s education gives him better prospects. Sam still has to explain the ten year hole on his CV where he has no work experience. Sometimes, before he got a job, Sam used to lie on his CV. He’d give out one of Dean’s cell numbers as a reference and when someone called Dean would have fun pretending to be someone else for a change. 

He used to do a lot of pretending. He could get up in the morning and be a fireman or a priest or an FBI agent. 

Now he gets up and he’s just Dean. 

That’s good too. 

There’s a lot less lying in his life. Dean can meet people, he can tell them who he is and what he does and he doesn’t have to worry. 

He and Sam have a house. Dean had a tool shed. 

He keeps everything in pristine condition. There is a place for everything. He’s never been this organised in his life. Sam says he wishes Dean took the same sort of care inside the house and didn’t leave empty plates and dirty laundry all around. 

Dean still has his guns. He still has all the weapons he picked up while hunting. He knows that he doesn’t need them anymore but he feels safer knowing there at hand. He has a trapdoor in the floor of his tool shed and that’s where he keeps them. They’re all illegal. In Dean’s new, better life things like that might be an issue. He keeps them stashed away and doesn’t give anybody a reason to come looking. 

Castiel doesn’t come looking for him any longer. He doesn’t need to. Everything is good. 

Sometimes Dean sits up at night, listening for the sound of wings. Sometimes he gets out of bed and pads round the house, trying not to wake Sam because he knows Sam needs to sleep. He walks about and he waits. He convinces himself he sees Castiel from the corner of his eye. He tells himself that in a moment he’ll turn around and the angel will be there but he isn’t. 

That’s really for the best. The only reason Dean would ever need to see Castiel again would be if something was wrong. The fact that Castiel never turns up is a good thing. 

It means everything is right with the world. 

Dean has a girlfriend. 

It’s a casual thing mostly although she is hinting that they could move in together. Dean knows that would be the best thing. He and Sam can’t live in each other’s pockets for the rest of their lives. One day, Sam is going to meet someone special. He’ll want to spend the rest of his life with her and Dean can’t move in with them, living in one room like an unwanted elderly relative. He can’t be the brother who never learned how to let go. 

There was a time when he and Sam were all each other had. That time is over now. That’s good, Dean accepts that. He and Sam can still be close. They can see each other on Sundays and go over to each other’s houses, although here Dean’s getting ahead of himself because he’s just casually dating and Sam isn’t dating at all. 

Dean’s girlfriends name is Angela. Sometimes he calls her Angel as a pet name but not very often because he thinks of Cas when he does. He’s known a real angel. He’s known tons of them in fact and most of them weren’t very angelic. It’s a stupid nickname and it doesn’t mean anything. More often he calls her baby. 

She thinks Dean is funny. She likes that he works with his hands. She doesn’t even mind that he lives with his brother and he’s thirty-five. Dean always mumbles something about the economy when people bring it up and then no one questions it. When people look at it in terms of economics it makes perfect sense. 

Dean’s life is filled with good things like his girlfriend and his brother. It’s filled with a nice corner bar where Dean can go on Friday nights and get pleasantly, quietly drunk. Sometimes Dean goes there on Thursdays, sometimes Mondays, Tuesdays and Wednesdays too. It’s his choice when he goes and how much he drinks while he’s there. 

He has earned it after all. 

He’s earned the good life.

**

The thing about the bar Dean visits is that it’s select. Dean doesn’t even notice at first. It doesn’t force its way to the front of his mind until after he’d been there enough times to get comfortable, to settle in. Dean thought he liked the place because it wasn’t noisy. There was no thumping music, no silly cocktail hour. There was just good beer and guys like him; guys who didn’t want to talk to each other, but who wanted to drink. 

Then Dean starts to notice that women really don’t come in all that often at all. There was a waitress behind the bar, but she was in her forties and reminds him of Ellen. She’s no-nonsense, brisk. No one is going to try flirting with her. It’s not a pick-up joint, so Dean thinks and he likes that about it, until he looks closer and realizes for a small, select clientèle, it is a pick-up bar. He hears two guys fucking in the bathroom when he goes in there to take a leak. Then, on another visit, he stumbles upon a blow job in the back alley behind the bar. After that, he sees the clandestine meetings and casual hook-ups that are going on everywhere around him. 

At first Dean doesn’t like the fact that his favorite bar is an unofficial gay bar. He’s nervous that someone is going to come and disturb him, but he watches and he learns there are signs. Dean isn’t giving off any of those signs. He’s just sitting, watching. Lots of guys come in to do that. Maybe some of them are like Dean and came to the wrong place, but don’t want to leave because the beer is good and no one bothers then? Or maybe they’re biding their time until they can work up the courage to start making signals themselves? 

Dean decides he doesn’t care what the other patrons do, as long as no one bothers him. Sometimes, he sees men he’s done odd jobs for down in the bar. He knows that most of them are married. A few of them have kids. They ignore Dean and Dean ignores them. He knows they think he and they have an understanding, but they don’t. Dean just wouldn’t use that kind of information against them. He’s not that guy and it’s not his place to tell them how they’ve messed up their lives. 

Dean is just there to drink. 

It stays that way for months, until one rainy Tuesday afternoon when Dean has no work on and money burning a hole in his pocket. He’s half way through his second beer when the door to the bar opens and the man walks in. For a second, Dean is convinced it’s Castiel standing there. He stares openly at the man, who does bear a striking resemblance to Cas, but Dean knows Castiel and he can see the differences. All the same, for a few minutes, he was hopeful. 

The man heads to the bar and softly orders himself a beer. Dean keeps watching him. His trench coat is wet with rain, his hair is plastered down. He’s new. This is his first time at the bar, or at least his first time when Dean’s been there. Dean knows he would have noticed him before. 

It surprises Dean just how much he wants the guy to turn around and notice him. He’s filled with a deep sense of longing and he thinks that he really does miss Castiel. It would have been fun to bring him here, try to teach him about beer. He could have seen if his nerdy little angel enjoyed being picked up by guys more than he’d liked it with girls. He can’t really pray to Castiel to come and see him just to hang out at a bar. Castiel has other things to do. Castiel has things that are important now and Dean is no longer one of them. 

The man at the bar turns, looking for a place to sit, and Dean raises his hand, beckoning him over. He’s got blue eyes, just like Castiel’s. Dean knows that once they start to talk, the guy won’t be anything like Cas, but it’ll still be fun for a little while. The man looks relieved, almost startled, that Dean wants him to sit with him but he dutifully crosses the room and sits down. 

For a moment they stare at each other, a long pause hanging between the two of them. 

“Do you come here often?” Dean asks finally.

“No, someone recommended it to me,” the guy says, and his voice isn’t like Castiel’s, which is a shame. “What about you?”

“This is my regular,” Dean says, shrugging his shoulders. 

The guy takes a sip of his beer and Dean watches his lips stretch around the bottle, feels unexpectedly warm. 

“I’ve never asked anyone over before,” he says, because he thinks the guy should know that even if Dean is in the bar nearly every night, that doesn’t make him some hound dog. 

The guy puts his drink down and smiles at Dean. He leans closer, his voice lowered and that does something to Dean. “I saw you the moment I walked in. You’re the hottest guy in this place. I didn’t think you’d be interested in someone like me.” 

That’s really Dean’s cue to tell the man that he’s got it wrong. Dean isn’t looking for a hook-up, he was just reminded of an old friend. Only Dean doesn’t do that. He smiles back at the guy and moves in his seat, spreading his legs wide because his dick just jumped to attention and wants to see where this will lead. Probably nowhere and they’ll just drink their beers, flirt and go their separate ways, but he’ll still enjoy himself while he’s there. 

“I think you’re pretty good looking yourself,” he says, eyeing the guy up and down. “Just my type.” 

It doesn’t seem like such a big stretch to get up and follow the guy into the bathroom once they’ve finished their beers. Dean leans back against the wall, unzipping his jeans and lets the guy go down on his knees in front of him. The guy is so eager to get his mouth on Dean, so hungry for him. He moans around Dean’s cock. It’s not the best blow job Dean’s ever had but what it lacks in technique, it makes up for in enthusiasm. 

Dean shuts his eyes, buries his hands in the guy’s hair and thinks that this is how Castiel would be. If it was Castiel sucking his cock, he’d be just like this. He’d try his hardest because he always tries his hardest and he’d want Dean to enjoy himself. Thinking of Castiel’s lips stretched around his cock, thinking of fucking his throat and hearing his moans, makes Dean harder than he’s been in months. 

“Cas,” he gasps, his hand clenching in the guy’s short hair. He opens his eyes, frightened the guy might stop but either he doesn’t care or he hasn’t noticed. 

Dean keeps his eyes open because something else is happening in the room, something other than just the blow job he’s experiencing. The lights flicker. For a second, maybe two, he sees another trench coated man standing in the corner of the bathroom. He knows it’s Castiel. He doesn’t know why Castiel is there, why he’s watching Dean during this but Dean can’t look away from him. 

Then, just as quickly as he appeared, Castiel is gone. 

Dean comes without warning, harder than he’d expected. The guy sucking him ends up with a mouthful of come but that doesn’t seem to bother him. He swallows, licks his lips and looks up at Dean hopefully.

Dean strokes his cheek.

“You did good,” he says softly. 

“Can I see you again?” the man asks. 

Dean knows he should call an end to it now. He knows that this is cheating. He has a girlfriend. Dean hasn’t always been faithful, but that was something he thought he’s grown out of. This was just scratching an itch. It was a mistake more than anything else, but then Dean had seen Castiel and maybe it wasn’t such a mistake as he thought. 

“Yeah,” he says, nodding. “You can see me here. I come in on Friday normally.”

“I’d like that,” the guy says.

His voice is raw, low and Dean’s going to have to fuck his throat again if he can get him to sound that way. 

**

That first time Dean feels guilty for days afterwards. He swears to never go back. There are other bars, other places to drink. Dean can drive out of town if he really can’t find anywhere he can stand close by. There are a few bars dotted along the highway and the next town is only an hour’s drive away. Dean doesn’t need to go back to that place. 

He feels dreadful when he sees Angela. He thinks she must know, that it must be obvious he had sex with someone else. Not just with someone else, but with another man. She doesn’t know though. She asks why he’s jumpy, seems surprised when Dean doesn’t invite her to stay the night but she doesn’t call him out on his deceit. 

Everywhere he goes, Dean thinks people know about him. He thinks that people talk, that they know he visits that bar and they know what sort of place it is. He thinks they know that he gave in to temptation. He wants for someone to confront him, to tell him they know his dirty little secret, but no one does. They still smile at him the market, still call him up and ask him to do odd jobs for them. Dean isn’t shunned or reviled. 

Even Sam doesn’t realise that something has changed. 

Dean waits for his brother to notice the shift in him, to understand that Dean isn’t the same Dean who walked about that Friday night, but he doesn’t. 

Towards the end of the week, it dawns on Dean that no one has guessed his secret. He has no reason to be guilty because no one knows. It’s liberating to realise that. It’s like a weight lifted from his shoulders. Dean knows he should feel guilty, he knows that he shouldn’t need people to know what he did to feel bad about his actions, but he does. Maybe Dean’s sense of morality has been screwed by so many years living outside the law, doing what he needed to do to get by. Cheating isn’t the same, it’s not a necessity. Dean doesn’t need to go to the bar and get his cock sucked by anonymous men who bear a resemblance to Cas. 

Only he does. He needs it badly. It becomes an itch he can’t scratch, an addiction he has to feed and once Dean realises that he can have it, that no one is going to know about it, it becomes impossible to resist. 

Dean heads back to the bar that Saturday night, watching the door hopefully, waiting for the not-Cas to make an appearance. He doesn’t. Dean drinks three beers and walks home, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. He doesn’t drive the Impala when he means to drink. It’s not far to walk home and even if it was, Dean wouldn’t want his car parked outside that kind of place. 

He’s agitated, on edge for the rest of the weekend. Dean doesn’t go to the bar on Sunday. He spends the day at home, bothering Sam by refusing to get out of bed. He spends half his time masturbating furiously, his eyes closed, calling up the memory of that man’s mouth around his cock and Castiel in the shadows, watching them. The rest of his time he spends cursing the fact that he needs this now.

It’s not just the other man he needs. He needs Castiel to come back and stand there. He needs Castiel to watch him and know that Dean wants to be fucking his mouth instead. He’s sure Castiel understands that. He knows Castiel came when he called. Dean hopes he might come again and might stay a little longer this time. 

When Dean goes back to the bar, the same guy is there from before. Dean doesn’t even finish his beer before he gets up, motioning for the guy to follow him. They find themselves in one of the cubicles and the guy is on his knees again in no time. Dean fists his hair and fucks his throat. He closes his eyes, whispers Castiel’s name and gets an echoing moan from the guy sucking him. He also gets the flutter of wings and one glimpse of shocked, wide blue eyes. Those eyes meet his and Dean sees the look in them turn to desire before Castiel flits away, as insubstantial as a shadow. 

Dean grabs the guy by the back of the head and holds him still as he comes, makes him swallow. Dean knows that isn’t like him. He doesn’t just fuck for his pleasure and he’s never been a greedy lover. He’s always wanted to make sure the other person was happy, always wanted them to come first, but when he’s fucking with this guy, he doesn’t want that. 

It doesn’t help that the guy looks up at him with wide blue eyes, panting breathlessly and then smiles at him.

“You like it when I’m rough with you?” Dean asks him, shoving his foot between the guy’s legs, placing one boot over the bulge in the guy’s trousers, rubbing back and forth. 

The guy shuts his eyes, nodding and a little moan escapes him. 

“What’s your name?” Dean asks. 

He knows asking for a name is stupid, that this is supposed to be a casual hook-up and nothing more but he can’t stop himself. He wants to know the name of the guy who gets off on Dean manhandling him. 

The guy opens his eyes and licks his lips, hesitating for a moment.

“Jimmy,” he says finally. “My name’s Jimmy.”

Dean almost wants to laugh because it’s just too fucking perfect that this Cas lookalike should be called Jimmy of all things, but he controls himself. He applies a little more pressure to the bulge in Jimmy’s pants, hearing Jimmy whimper and then he pulls away.

“Finish yourself off,” he commands, cool and calm. “I’m Dean, by the way.”

He stays in the stall, watches Jimmy stroke his cock, jerky fast little movements and Dean’s glad he didn’t hold back when he fucked Jimmy’s throat because when the guy moans his name, Dean can close his eyes and pretend that it’s Castiel down on his knees on the filthy floor, Castiel spilling over his hand while begging for Dean. 

In the end, Dean’s glad he told the guy his name. 

He feels a cold sweat the next day, waits for Jimmy to track him down and turn up at the door or start leaving messages on his answer phone, but the only messages he gets are from Angela, asking Dean where he’s been and what he’s up to. 

Dean feels guilty as sin. He’s extra nice to Angela, takes her out for romantic meals, buys her little gifts, even bakes for her because he’s got the time on his hands and he makes the best apple pie, even if he knows he’s bragging. Dean knows that it isn’t right, what he’s doing, but Angela’s happy. They’re actually getting on better. It wasn’t as if things between them were bad before, it was just that they were stale. Now Dean is appreciating her more. 

They start having sex again and it’s fun. Dean shuts his eyes, lets her ride his cock and imagines himself back in that bar, getting another blow job. He comes so hard, so fast. He tells Angela afterwards that it’s all because of her, because she turns him on so much and she smiles widely at him. Dean feels bad for a few seconds, but then he goes down on her and feels her fingers tighten in his hair and he knows he has Angela seeing stars. 

It makes him feel better too. If he was gay, if he was having some late in life crisis like the guys on the daytime talk shows that Dean catches sometimes, then he wouldn’t want to have sex with Angela. He certainly wouldn’t want to eat her out. Dean hasn’t lost his taste for that or his skill. Dean isn’t gay. He just has this itch that needs to be scratched, this desire and Dean’s better when he’s getting his fix. 

He’s nicer to Angela. In fact, he’s more relaxed in general. He doesn’t snap at Sam and he just rolls his eyes when the people he works for are condescending assholes. If getting his cock sucked helps Dean cool off then it’s not a bad thing. It’s not cheating. It’s just two guys helping each other out at the end of a long week. 

Jimmy obviously needs it as much as Dean does. He needs someone who can be rough with him and Dean can do that. He’s spent so long running from that need, running from his desire to control. He used to give orders and now he has to take them again and Dean finds he doesn’t like that. He gets back a bit of control, a bit of power, when he goes to the bar and that’s okay. 

He gets to see Castiel too and that’s just the icing on the cake as far as Dean’s concerned. He wishes Castiel would stay, would continue watching. Hell, sometimes Dean wishes Castiel would get down on his knees, push Jimmy aside and get to work licking Dean’s cock, looking up at him, waiting for an order, waiting to be told he was doing good. Dean used to love that look from Castiel. He used to be Castiel’s whole world, right up until Dean saved the world and he wasn’t useful to anyone any longer. 

Dean knows it’s wrong to think about Castiel like that. He knows that Castiel is powerful, Castiel is an angel and Castiel probably doesn’t want to submit to Dean that way. He wanted Free Will and Dean’s way of doing things, not to end up in Dean’s bed. He probably doesn’t want to see Dean fucking strange men in bathrooms but then Dean remembers the heat in Castiel’s eyes and he wonders if that’s so true. Maybe Castiel has some hidden desires of his own that Dean doesn’t know about. 

**

Dean returns to the bar on Friday as usual, but this time he doesn’t make it inside. Someone is waiting for him, hunched in the shadows of the alley way behind the bar, watching him with confused, hurt eyes. Dean knows when he’s being watched, he learned that lesson the hard way and besides, Castiel was never subtle about it.

He isn’t subtle now. He looks like some kind of creep, waiting and watching. Dean wonders if he’s been there long. Castiel could stand like that for hours and not notice the time passing. He’s probably given a few people the chills, standing there like that, just observing them. He’s giving Dean chills now. 

Dean takes a deep breath and squares his shoulders. He knows that eventually they’d have to talk. He knows that this confrontation has been a long time coming but he’s still surprised that Castiel is waiting for him. Dean usually had to piss Castiel off pretty bad before he’d seek Dean out for a confrontation. 

Dean winces, remembering another alleyway, another time. He remembers Castiel’s fury and anger, remembers how Castiel felt betrayed by him. He’d shaken Castiel’s faith in him and Castiel hadn’t held back in his disappointment. Was he disappointed now? Castiel had always known Dean was human, that he was fallible. Castiel stitched him back together, helped mend the torn and frayed tatters that had been Dean’s soul. He had seen every sin, every indiscretion but he’d still thought Dean was righteous, that he deserved to be saved. 

Maybe, Dean thinks, as he starts to walk towards Castiel, towards the darkness of the alley, it was easier for Castiel to know those things as facts but not to experience them. Castiel never saw Dean having sex, he didn’t see Dean tugging on bra straps or rolling out of bed the morning after and taking off without a backwards glance. Perhaps it isn’t the sex that’s so unsettling, but who Dean’s having it with. 

Castiel always claimed to be indifferent to sexuality. Dean doesn’t know if indifferent means he doesn’t care or if he just turns a blind eye to it. Castiel is an angel after all and the bible and men who preach about the bible have a few choice words about the sin Dean’s been committing. Maybe Castiel could tolerate the other blemishes to Dean’s soul but he can’t tolerate this one. 

Dean wonders if that’s even fair to call it a sin. He knows that what he’s doing isn’t noble – not the sneaking around, not the lying and he knows Angela wouldn’t like it – but the actual act itself doesn’t seem wrong to him. If Dean’s buying himself a one way ticket to damnation because sometimes he lets a guy suck his cock then the whole world is unfair and Dean wants a word with God about it because it’s time something changed. 

Dean comes to a stop, standing in front of Castiel. He looks at Castiel’s face and feels fear coil in the pit of his stomach. Castiel is something holy, something pure and Dean has been debasing him. He keeps calling Castiel’s name, keeps willing him down when he should leave Castiel alone. Dean knows that what he’s doing in his wrong, knows that he shouldn’t enjoy it more because Castiel is watching him, but he does. 

He looks at Castiel’s face, at those narrowed blue eyes. He and Castiel don’t mean anything to each other anymore. They aren’t friends. They can’t be friends. Dean has ruined that. They worked together before because they needed to, because it was the best thing to do. Once the gates of Hell were closed, there was no need for them to see each other any longer. Any nostalgia Castiel may have had for him, Dean has no doubt destroyed. 

He smiles bitterly.

“Hey, Cas,” he says and waits for the righteous anger to descend upon him. 

He doesn’t have to wait long. Castiel grabs him by the front of his shirt and slams him into the wall. Dean hisses, the breath knocked out of him. For a moment, he’s back in the past, pinned to another wall, feeling for the first time the power hidden underneath Castiel’s placid outer shell. 

He should have grasped on to that, should have always viewed Castiel as dangerous, as a being of pure energy and design, but he hasn’t. He forgets. He remembers instead how Castiel looked at him keenly, how he moved towards Dean and his approval. He remembers the first time he made Castiel smile. 

He remembers the Castiel he wants to remember. It’s probably a good thing that Castiel is here now to remind him that he doesn’t serve Dean, doesn’t perch on his shoulder. 

He waits for the blows to rain down, waits for the taste of blood in his mouth. Maybe Castiel will heal him or maybe this time he won’t. Maybe this time Dean’s suffering will last and he will heal slowly. The pain will be a reminder, a warning. Dean waits for it, almost welcomes it. This might be what he needs, the final act that will break his need for Castiel. He won’t want him after this, won’t desire Castiel’s touch. He’ll know Castiel is a weapon, not built for love or tenderness. 

He keeps his eyes open, watching Castiel. He wants to see everything until he can’t keep his eyes open any more. 

He sees Castiel’s eyes widen, sees them grow sad. He sees Castiel’s mouth thin into a hard line, almost a frown. 

“I don’t understand you,” Castiel says and he sounds defeated. 

It isn’t what Dean expects. Castiel still has him pinned to the wall. Dean can’t move. He can’t leave. If Castiel has a speech prepared then Dean will have to hear it, even if he’d rather they talked with violence. Words hurt much more in Dean’s experience. 

Castiel opens his mouth again then shuts it tightly. Dean hopes this means that the time for talking is past. If Castiel is waiting for Dean to explain himself, the truth is that Dean can’t. He can’t say the things he feels. He can’t make himself admit what he wants or needs. He can only take what he gets in the bar and be happy with it. 

Castiel shakes his head, his grip on Dean tightening. Then he leans forward and presses his mouth against Dean’s. He kisses Dean hopelessly, sagging against him. All the tension drains from his body and his fingers go lax, his hold on Dean slipping. Castiel kisses him as if his heart is breaking. Dean doesn’t know, maybe it is? 

He reaches out, wrapping his arms gingerly around Castiel, holding him for a brief moment. He kisses Castiel back. It’s so little, not enough and Castiel disappears from his arms suddenly, before Dean has had time to really understand what they’re doing. 

He stands in the alleyway, the sense of loss impossible. A moment before he had Castiel. For a brief, glittering moment things in his life made sense but then that moment shattered and Dean is left confused again.

He looks up and down the alley, shaking his head sadly.

“I don’t understand you either, Cas,” he says to the air, hoping Castiel can hear him.

Then he goes home. Jimmy might be inside the bar. He might be waiting, hoping, but Dean can’t use him tonight. He has the taste of Castiel in his mouth and Dean is damned if he’s going to lose that. 

**

Dean doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t understand himself, so how can he begin to understand Castiel? He feels lost in a way he hasn’t done since they closed the gates of Hell. Dean used to understand things. He used to know there was an overarching plan, a battle between good and evil and Dean stood on the side of good. Then all of that ended and Dean lost that certainty. 

He can’t say he ever understood Castiel though. Castiel has always been fleeting, changing and unsubstantial. He has seen Castiel burn hot and he’s seen Castiel burn cold. He’s seen a solider, a madman, a healer and a lover but Castiel has always remained an enigma. He knows Castiel does what he thinks is right, that he tries his hardest, but for something so old and so powerful, Castiel doesn’t always understand the consequences of his actions. 

Dean wonders if Castiel knows what he did in that alleyway, if he understands the magnitude of it to Dean. Dean who was expecting to be punished and received penitence instead. He doesn’t know what to do about it because he can’t get the feeling of Castiel’s mouth out of his mind. He can’t forget the way Castiel broke against him, how kissing Dean was like surrender for him. Dean remembers he said once that angels couldn’t under understand emotions, that they were destroyed by them. 

He knows Castiel is made to love, made to protect and to adore his father’s creation but there’s the paternal, removed love the angels are supposed to feel. Then there’s desire and lust. Castiel isn’t made for them. Dean is sure of that. He’s seen Castiel attempt them. He remembers the shattered, junkie version of Castiel, the one who was supposed to be his future, who used sex like drugs, who used it as an escape. He remembers Castiel’s empty, cold marriage when he was Emmanuel, another pale imitation of the angel Dean can’t get out of his mind. 

Castiel doesn’t know how to love. Dean knows that because he’s seen Castiel’s love turn into obsession. He took his friendship with Dean and turned it into a reason to work with Crowley. He took his desire to protect Dean, and then to please him, and released a new breed of monster into the world. Dean remembers how Castiel demanded his love, demanded Dean bow down to him. He thought he was a god but he’d still needed Dean to love him. His anger had been ferocious when Dean couldn’t. Dean still wasn’t sure how much of that was the Leviathans messing with Castiel’s head and how much of it was Castiel’s real emotions rising to the surface.

He’d demanded Dean respect him once, why would love be any different? 

Dean doesn’t doubt that this is love for Castiel or as close to love as Castiel can understand. It scares him. He doesn’t know what he was trying to do, if he was trying to goad Castiel but the reaction he received wasn’t the one he was expecting and now Dean is lost. 

He can’t talk to Sam about it. Sam wouldn’t understand. He’d want to find words to describe what Dean’s been doing, words that make Dean break out in a cold sweat. He doesn’t want to pick new labels or discover himself. He’s happy how he is. 

He’s only confused when it comes to Castiel, Castiel who broke down in his arms and gave in to emotion and who Dean is terrified to see again because he’s frightened he might be the same. He might not be able to ignore the way his heart beats louder when he thinks about Castiel or the way he seeks out a man who looks like Castiel. He might not be able to ignore the fact that his mouth feels like Castiel’s kiss is burned on to it. 

**

Luckily for Dean, Charlie calls him with a hunt before he gets too introspective or before he buckles and prays for Castiel. Charlie keeps an eye out for strange and paranormal activity. She even invented a program that combs the web, flagging up subjects of interest for her. Right after they closed the gates of Hell, there was a peak in activity, but slowly it petered out. Dean hardly hears from Charlie now and that upsets him too. 

He knows she’s settled and happy, that for Charlie things worked out. Gilda came back. They have a nice little apartment filled with Charlie’s mint condition action figures and comic book collection. Gilda has a cat. 

Charlie always invites him over when she calls. She wants to see him. It’s Dean who pulled away. He finds Charlie’s happiness suffocating. He doesn’t know why but if he spends too much time thinking about her and Gilda, about the fact that Gilda chose to stay with Charlie, his chest feels tight and he needs to change the subject, needs to get up and go for air. So Dean told Charlie only to call when she had a case for him and Charlie, a better friend than Dean deserves, sticks to it.

She still asks him if he wants to catch up when she calls him this time. Dean almost says no, because that’s his instinct, but instead it turns into “Okay.” He makes plans to swing by her place on the way back from his hunt. Dean doesn’t know if he’ll keep to those plans but Charlie sounds so happy on the other end of the line and Dean doesn’t want to let her down.

It’s an easy hunt. Dean just has to put a ghost to rest and it’s a simple salt and burn. There are no hidden body parts, no hair or blood or bone fragments. Everything is easy. Dean almost distrusts it as too easy. He almost wants it to be harder. He left Sam at home. Sam has a big test coming up that he needs to study for. If he passes, he’ll be well on his way to completing his night school course and then he can look into sitting the bar exam. Dean’s proud of him. 

He’s proud that Sam has his life together, that he knows which direction he wants to go in even when Dean himself is so directionless. Dean wishes the hunt was harder because he feels he’s a millstone around Sam’s neck, holding him back and dragging him down. If something went wrong on the hunt, if Dean didn’t come back, then Sam could go forward without him. Dean’s problems would end too, of course. It’s hard to have problems when you’re dead, although being Dean Winchester, Dean would probably still have a few.

He’s been plagued by dark thoughts before. They’re almost his way of shutting out the world. Dean used to believe he’d go out in a blaze of glory and that would make everything worth it. There are fewer and fewer moments of glory now though and that worries Dean. 

He doesn’t die though. He doesn’t even get a scratch. The hunt is rookie work. Dean finishes up, reminds himself that Sam would kill him if he died on a hunt, somewhere far away from where Sam, and drives back to town, taking the detour to Charlie’s. 

Gilda opens the door for him, looking serene in a big white sweater that reaches down to her knees. Dean always thinks she has a glow about her and probably she does. She’s not human after all, even if she passes for one. 

“Dean,” she says, her voice warm with affection. She holds out her hand, clasps his tight for a moment then lets go. 

“Charlie told you I was coming, right?” Dean asks.

Gilda nods.

“She mentioned you’d try to make it.” Her cheeks flush and she looks away from Dean. “I wasn’t sure if you’d come or not.” 

“Yeah,” Dean says awkwardly. “That makes two of us.”

Gilda smiles shyly at him and Dean finds himself grinning back at her. There’s no malice or bitterness in Gilda’s words. She’s happy that Dean came, happy that he didn’t repeat the pattern he’s fallen in to. These are his friends and Dean wonders why he ever worried about coming over to them. 

“So, where is Charlie?” he asks after a moment.

Gilda opens her mouth to answer, but there’s a shout of disgust from another room and Charlie comes out into the hallway, Gilda’s white, fluffy cat held in her arms.

“He was eating my Spidermans!” Charlie says angrily. “He needs to learn comics aren’t food!”

Gilda sighs softly, evidentially this is a fight she’d used to, and takes the cat from Charlie’s arms.

“Dean’s here,” she says. 

They pause for a moment, just long enough for Charlie to press a kiss to Gilda’s cheek, and Dean’s heart constricts painfully. Then Charlie bounds up to him, throwing her arms around Dean and hugging him tightly, and Dean shakes off the momentary discomfort. Charlie is as lively as he remembers. She wants to show him the new gaming system she’s just bought and she demands Dean tells her all about his case while she kicks his ass at a first person shooter. 

Gilda makes dinner. Dean doesn’t know what fairies eat, but apparently Gilda has developed a taste for chopped salad and deliciously meaty pasta with big chucks of sausage in the sauce. Dean eats until he feels like he can’t move. He drinks too much too. Charlie has beer and then they move on to shots. Dean’s too old to be doing shots but Charlie has a Star Wars trivia game and each time someone gets a question wrong, they have to drink. Gilda answers more questions that Dean was expecting, obviously Charlie’s been showing her the films, but by the end of the night she’s giggly and lightheaded, having had a double the number of shots Charlie and Dean have consumed. 

“Stay the night,” Charlie says as she helps Gilda up, out of her chair, letting her girlfriend lean on her. “We’ve got a spare room and you’re in no condition to drive.”

“Okay,” Dean agrees.

He feels happier than he has in ages. He feels as if he’s weightless, as if all his cares have melted away. He wants to stay with Charlie and Gilda forever. He wants to share in their happiness. Dean doesn’t know how to be happy like they are, how to live simply with the things he loves, but he wants to learn. He wants to learn so badly. 

He finds himself in the box room. There are fresh sheets on the bed and Charlie leaves him a collection of comics as reading material. Dean is too tired to even try flicking through them. He takes off his shirt and jeans, flops back on the bed in his underwear and falls asleep in the blink of an eye.

**

Dean wakes up in the middle of the night. He blinks up at the ceiling, at the inky blackness of the room and for a moment, doesn’t recognize where he is. Then it all comes rushing back to him and remembers that he’s in Charlie’s spare room. Dean sits up slowly, putting a hand to his head but he only has a slight headache. Sam always says he drinks too much, that Dean is past the point of really feeling it, but that isn’t true. Dean’s cut down since he gave up hunting full-time. 

There’s a scratching at the door, then a pitiful meowing. Dean groans, rubbing at his eyes. That must be what woke him up. Gilda’s cat is outside, trying to get into his room. It probably sleeps here normally and Dean is disturbing it. 

Dean debates leaving the cat outside. He has a mild allergy to cats. If it gets up on the bed with him, Dean will probably start sneezing. The cat meows again, louder this time and Dean sighs. If he leaves the cat outside, it will probably continue demanding to be let in, getting louder and more impatient. Dean doesn’t want his headache getting worse. He thinks he might be able to get back to sleep and if the cat sleeps at the end of the bed, maybe he’ll only get red eyes and a runny nose. 

He gets out of bed and pads quietly to the door. He opens it slowly and looks down at the cat who blinks owlishly up at him.

“What’s the matter, sweetheart?” he asks her. “Did your mummies shut you out?” 

He bends down to pick up the cat, hoping that no one is up to hear him talking to her. Dean knows he’s allergic. He knows he should just leave the door open and let her find her own way in but Dean’s got a soft spot for cats. Castiel likes them. He was always disappearing off to pet cats and stroke them if he saw one in the street. Dean fondly remembers the time he attempted to interrogate a cat when they were working a case together. 

Castiel always said they needed a cat, that if felt as if they were one species short. Dean guesses it was pointless but he brought some allergy tablets right after they closed up Hell. Back when he’d thought Castiel might want to stay with them, might want to give Heaven a miss. Dean had already been planning a life that involved Castiel and a cat. 

Dean cradles the cat close to him, cards his fingers through her soft fur and sneezes. The cat crosses her eyes at him, affronted and Dean sets her down on the end of the bed. He’d always assumed Castiel would stay with him and Sam. He assumed they’d ride off into the sunset together, the three of them. The fact that Castiel didn’t stay still hurts him. It stings. Dean knows that he couldn’t ask Castiel to choose between Heaven and Earth. It wasn’t as if Dean had anything to offer him then. He doesn’t have anything to offer him now. 

Dean closes the bedroom door and settles back down in the bed. His nose is itching and he blinks a few times, his eyes wet. 

He lies down and wishes he could have what Charlie has. He tries to imagine it with Angela, closes his eyes and desperately tries to picture it, but she keeps fading away. Castiel comes too easily to his mind. He can picture having all of this – the cat, the home, the easy, comfortable happiness – with Castiel and that scares him. 

When Dean was growing up, there was only one future for him. His dad congratulated him on being a ladies man. He loved that Dean chased skirt. When other parents would have been worried about their kids staying out late, getting into trouble, Dean’s dad was proud of him. Dean broke girls hearts and that was the way it was supposed to be. Dean was straight. He had to be straight. Everywhere he looked he was surrounded by men like his dad – tough, macho, masculine hunters. There were unspoken rules and Dean knew how to abide by them. 

Now that life is gone. Dean isn’t a hunter any more. His future is different. He could be anyone. Sam is reinventing himself, being the person he always wanted to be. Dean could do that too, if he has any idea who that person is. 

He’s lived for other people for so long that Dean doesn’t know who is underneath it all. The things he used to cling to, the things which defined him, are almost all gone now. Dean is thirty-five. He doesn’t want a mid-life crisis. He doesn’t want to find himself now, when he feels as if he’s too old. He wants to know himself already but he’s never had the chance. 

Dean thinks he understands now why he stays away from Charlie’s. He thinks he knows when his chest feels tight when he’s there. He sees Charlie and Gilda, sees them so happy together and Dean knows that he could do that too. It might not be with Castiel, but he could be with another man and they could make each other happy. 

Just the thought of it terrifies Dean. 

He pulls the covers up over his head and rolls over, punching his pillow. 

Dean is too old, too scared, to explore this part of himself. He’s locked it away for so long that he can’t face the idea of dealing with it. He’s been happy with women in the past. He loved Lisa, or at least he loved the idea of Lisa, and he can love Angela too. 

The cat is curled up at the foot of the bed, making soft noises in her sleep. Dean shuts out the questions and voices in his head, the nagging feeling that he’s holding himself back from something that could be glorious and eventually, on the edge of exhaustion, he drops off to sleep again. 

He dreams he’s lying in bed with Castiel, wrapped up in the other man. They kiss, soft and breathless, but there’s no hurry, no urgency. They both know they have all the time in the world. In his dream, Dean knows with perfect certainty that they are together. Castiel won’t leave. They have a house, a life. They belong. At the end of their bed, curled into a ball, is Castiel’s cat. The cat is real and warm and it helps Dean to believe the rest of the dream is too. 

**

Dean drives home in the morning after a cup of coffee. He refuses the offer of breakfast. His stomach grumbles. Dean is hungry, but he longs for home. He hugs Charlie tight before he leaves, kisses the top of her head and promises he’ll call her later. He promises to see her more often. He sees the hope in Charlie’s eyes and Dean determines to keep his promises.

He gets home to an empty house and calls Charlie straight away, leaving a message on her answering machine to tell her he’s home. Dean doesn’t need to. He knows that, but he wants to make the effort. He crawls into bed after that and falls back asleep. He doesn’t dream this time, but he wakes with a hunger for more than food. 

There are condoms in the draw by Dean’s bed. Dean takes one out, slips it into his wallet and heads to the bar. He knows he’s going early but he can grab something to eat on the way. He wants to be there, wants to see Jimmy. He needs contact and he needs it from the man who looks enough like Castiel that Dean can pretend for a few moments, can close his eyes and be with Cas instead.

**

Dean is on his third beer when Jimmy arrives. Dean catches his attention, beckons him over and buys him a drink before he outlines what he wants. 

“I want to fuck you,” he says, the words propelled by liquid courage. 

Jimmy nods slowly. He picks up his glass, raising it to his lips and drinks quickly, either because he needs a shot of the same courage Dean found in the bottom of a bottle or because he wants to hurry things along. He sets his glass down, licks his lips and stands. 

Dean gets up, following him. They had towards the bathroom together. Dean takes the condom out of his wallet. He’s already half-hard just from thinking about what he’s going to do. He wants to turn Jimmy away from him; wants to shove him up against the stall wall and fuck Jimmy’s mouth with his fingers while he fucks his ass. He wants to make his voice a low, broken growl and he wants him to purr out his name, just like Castiel would. 

“Do you have any lube?” Jimmy asks, so eager.

“The condom comes lubed,” Dean says.

Jimmy looks torn for a moment then shakes his head.

“No, that won’t be enough,” he says. 

“I thought you liked it rough,” Dean groans. He’s so hard now, achingly hard and he doesn’t want to wait around. 

Jimmy’s eyes darken, his breathing comes out a little faster. It’s obvious the idea turns him on but he shakes his head again. 

“Can’t,” he says, sinking to his knees.

Dean knows what he’s offering instead. He bites out a groan, disappointed that he isn’t going to get exactly what he wants but a blow job is better than nothing. Next time, Dean will remember that he needs more than just a condom. He doesn’t doubt that there will be a next time. Dean can’t deny this need he has. He can’t deny the desire. 

When he comes to the bar, he feels normal for a moment. He feels whole. No one questions him, no one expects anything of him. Dean can pick someone up or he can just have a drink. It’s a liberation he doesn’t feel anywhere else. 

He unzips, pulling out his hard cock and Jimmy makes a hungry noise, leaning forward and swallowing Dean down to the base. Dean groans loudly, his eyes snapping shut and he fists the man’s hair, rocking his hips forward as he starts to fuck the man’s throat. 

“Cas,” he calls. “Fuck, Cas.”

He opens his eyes, looks around but there is no angel watching him. He gets rougher, tugging at Jimmy’s hair, his thrusts erratic but powerful.

“Castiel,” he hisses. He hardly ever uses Castiel’s full name. He’s always Cas to Dean, always that softer, more affectionate name but Castiel isn’t coming when he uses that name so he has to do something different. 

Nothing happens. Jimmy’s mouth is warm and wet, Dean’s enjoying himself but it’s purely physical. Dean’s used to enjoying just the physical. He doesn’t need more than that. He’s never needed a deeper connection than lust but everything feels wrong suddenly. Without Castiel there, Dean doesn’t like it as much. It’s been Castiel he’s been looking forward to. 

Dean comes, biting his lip, trying to muffle his voice. He can’t pretend he hasn’t been thinking of someone else. He can’t pretend that he hasn’t been calling for Castiel while he’s had another man down on his knees, but Dean feels ashamed now. He pulls back, tucking himself away quickly and tries to run a hand gently through Jimmy’s hair but Jimmy shakes his head, getting to his feet. He rubs at his mouth, his lips are red. 

“Who’s Cas?” he asks. “An old boyfriend?”

“No,” Dean says. “He’s just a guy that I…”

“That you love,” Jimmy supplies easily. 

“Yes,” Dean says, nodding his head. 

He doesn’t see the point in resisting the truth now. Besides, if he can’t admit the truth to a man who’s had Dean’s cock in his mouth, who can Dean tell? 

“Maybe you should tell him that,” Jimmy says.

“What makes you think I haven’t?” Dean asks.

“You wouldn’t be here if you’d told him,” Jimmy says, smiling wistfully. “I know a guy like you. I wouldn’t be here if he wanted me.”

“Does he know?” Dean asks, his heart tightening in his chest. He imagines Castiel seeking out affection from someone else, imagines Castiel feeling unwanted, unloved. 

“I think he knows,” Jimmy says.

Dean grabs him by the shoulders and looks directly at him.

“You tell him. Tell him how you feel, tell him what you want. You tell him that you want to stay,” he says. 

He can see the puzzled look in Jimmy’s eyes, knows there are more questions there but Dean doesn’t have answers for them. 

He needs to go home. He needs to wash and rest, then he needs to pray to Castiel. He needs to tell him all the things he hasn’t said. He needs to ask him to stay. 

He won’t come back to the bar again and he hopes that Jimmy doesn’t need to either. 

**

Dean staggers home. He doesn’t see that the light is on in the living room until it’s too late. Sam calls out to him, his voice clipped with worry.

“Where have you been?”

“Out,” Dean says vaguely. He wants to get upstairs and into the shower. 

Sam gets up, coming over to him. He sniffs at Dean and pulls a face, disgusted.

“You stink of beer and sex,” he says. “Where have you been? I know you weren’t out with Angela. She called, wanted to talk to you.”

He looks at Dean as if he doesn’t understand him, as if he’s frightened by how Dean is. Dean knows how he feels. Dean doesn’t understand himself either.

“I went to the bar,” Dean says noncommittally. He isn’t prepared to tell Sam everything. He can’t tell Sam about what he did.

Sam narrows his eyes, frowning.

“You’re always at the bar. You’re drinking a lot, Dean. I think maybe you should talk to someone about it.”

Dean shakes his head.

“I just had a hard couple of days, Sam. I needed to unwind. There’s no problem.”

“Did something happen on the hunt?” Sam asks.

Dean shakes his head.

“No, it was easy. I just needed some time on my own to clear my head, that’s all.” 

“Dean,” Sam says with a sigh. “Are you cheating on Angela?” 

The words come as a shock to Dean. He knows he could deny Sam’s charge. He tells himself enough that he isn’t cheating. He tells himself that he’s just having fun, just enjoying a distraction that helps him unwind but he isn’t sure if that’s true anymore. He isn’t sure it was ever true. 

He bites on his lower lip, chews on it and avoids Sam’s eye. 

“Yeah,” he says finally. “I guess I am.”

“What do you mean?” Sam says, his voice tight. “Either you are or you aren’t?”

Dean licks his lips. His mouth feels dry. He can’t tell Sam what he means without explaining himself fully. He looks up at his brother’s face, stares Sam in the eye and hopes Sam won’t look at him with disgust after Dean tells him the truth about things.

“I’ve been meeting a man at the bar,” he says and then clarifies. “For sex.” 

“What?” Sam says. He sounds as if he can’t believe what Dean’s said. Dean knows that a few months ago, he wouldn’t have believed it either, but he’s discovered so much about himself now.

“I was meeting a man for sex. I guess you could call it an affair,” Dean says with a shrug. He knows he must sound callous but he can’t feel sorry for what he’s done. It’s over now, after all. “I’m not going back though.”

“I don’t understand,” Sam says. “I thought…you always said…have you done this before?”

“No,” Dean says, and he wishes he was sitting down, not halfway towards the stairs. “I’ve never hooked up with a guy before. I didn’t even really think about it before I met Castiel.”

“What does Cas have to do with this?” Sam asks, looking puzzled. 

He’s not judging, Dean realizes with a sense of relief. Sam just wants to understand what’s happened to him. He wants to help and Dean feels so lucky to have Sam in his life.

“I’m in love with him,” Dean says, the words slipping out easily. 

“Oh,” Sam says. “Does he know?”

“No, I don’t think so. I’m going to tell him. I want to get a wash, I need to break things off with Angela, but then I’m going to tell him,” Dean says. He’s determined and he hopes that this determination holds. 

“Okay,” Sam says. He grins at Dean. “I’d hug you, but you smell.” 

“I don’t need a hug,” Dean says grumpily. “I mean it, Sam. No coming out parties, no speeches about how proud you are of me. I need to do this my way.”

Sam nods. He’s still smiling. Dean grumbles as he heads up the stairs, but he can’t help being glad. He didn’t know what he expected from Sam but he feels warm, happy. Whatever happens next, he will always have Sam. His brother won’t hate him, won’t leave him. Sam will try to understand him, even when Dean can’t understand himself. 

**

He calls Angela in the morning and arranges to meet with her. He has a lot of trite words to say to her, words that don’t ring true. Dean knows he’s been a dick but he thinks the truth would hurt more than simply ending it would. He is the problem, not Angela. Even if those words sound slightly hollow and Dean can see how she doesn’t believe him. 

He doesn’t think she’d want to know about his trips to the bar. He doesn’t think she’d want to know that he’s fallen in love with another man. Nothing Angela has done or could do would change what happened. There was always a part of Dean that wasn’t happy, that wasn’t settled. There was always a part of him that couldn’t ever be settled if he stayed with her. 

They both deserve better than that. Dean deserves to be happy and Angela deserves a man who isn’t with her because once upon a time, his daddy sat him down and told him he had to grow up to be a certain type of man. 

She tells him she expected something like this, that Dean’s been distant and odd. In a way, Dean’s glad she already knew what was coming. It makes things a little easier. They don’t part on good terms. They’ll never be friends and Dean’s fine with that. He treated Angela badly. She can walk away with her head high and that’s for the best. 

He goes home, feeling as if a weight has been lifted off his shoulders. 

Sam is out at work. The house is empty. Dean goes upstairs and kneels down at the side of his bed. He clasps his hands, bows his head and thinks of the right words.

“Hey, Cas,” he starts. “I hope you’re listening. I know I’ve screwed up. I didn’t know what I wanted. I had to find out. I wish I’d known straight away, I wish I’d asked you to stay with me once we shut up Hell but I didn’t know then, Cas. I know now.”

He licks his lips, drawing in a deep breath.

“I love you, Castiel.”

There is the beating of wings behind him. Dean opens his eyes and turns round quickly. Castiel is standing behind him. He’s breathing hard, his shoulders shaking. He looks wonderful to Dean. 

“Do you mean it?” he asks. 

“Yes,” Dean says. 

“And now?” Castiel asks. 

Dean knows how this looks. He’s down on his knees in front of Castiel. If he had a ring, he’d offer it up to the angel but all he has is his heart so he offers that instead.

“Castiel,” he says, “Stay.”

Castiel drops down onto his knees and embraces Dean, pressing the first of many kisses to Dean’s lips.

“I always wanted to stay,” he whispers, his voice filled with awe. 

Dean doesn’t know what to do with him. He doesn’t know where to put his hands. He isn’t sure that Castiel wants to be touched, that he wants more than kisses for the moment. Dean wants everything but he’s frightened as well. He doesn’t know if Castiel even wants that. He’s never shown a great deal of interest in sexual things before. Dean isn’t certain he hasn’t got some apologizing to do. Castiel’s seen him with Jimmy; he has those images in his head. He may not want Dean because Dean is an ass who hurt him and could probably do it again. 

They love each other, they want to be together, but physical intimacy is another level. Dean thinks he could try to be happy just holding Castiel, loving him. It would be hard, Dean has always been a sexual person, but he could do it for Castiel. If he got to wake up with Castiel in his arms every morning then he could be happy. 

“Dean,” Castiel says, his fingers pulling and tugging on the front of Dean’s shirt. “Haven’t we waited long enough?”

“Do you hate me?” Dean asks. 

He hates himself. It feels like second nature to him sometimes. He’s been so good, asked for what he wanted and got it, so now he can’t believe it. He feels the old urge rising up to sabotage it. Dean will ruin things before Castiel realizes just how hopeless he is. He’ll ruin them before Castiel leaves him.

“I love you,” Castiel says. “I have loved you since I pulled you out of Hell. I have loved you since I put your body back together. I have seen every one of your faults and your sins, Dean. I still love you.”

“In the bar…” Dean says, his voice shaking. He thought he had a grip on himself but he feels raw, vulnerable and it isn’t a feeling he’s ever come to terms with. 

“I’m jealous,” Castiel says. He sounds pleased with himself.

Dean laughs. 

“I always bring out the worst in you,” he says, reaching out to rub his thumb across Castiel’s cheek.

“It’s an intense feeling,” Castiel says. “I want to rip your clothes off and cover your body with my own. I don’t want you to leave the bed until I know I’m the only one in your thoughts. Is that normal?” 

“That’s normal,” Dean agrees. 

He feels as if he’s on fire suddenly. Castiel words burn out any fear of recrimination or resentment. They leave behind them desire, coursing thick and heavy through Dean’s veins. His cock stirs. He and Castiel are alone in the house. They probably won’t have a chance like this again for a while. They could be loud, adventurous, unrestrained. Dean decides that there is no point dwelling on the past when the future looks so inviting in front of them. 

“Let’s go to bed,” he says, pulling Castiel up with him as he gets off his knees. 

Castiel smiles. He starts tugging off his tie, coat following soon after. Dean doesn’t waste any time pulling his own clothes off. He has less to worry about than Castiel does and so he’s naked while Castiel is struggling out of his socks, his boxers and shirt still on. Dean laughs, reaching out to steady Castiel, helping him to unbutton his shirt. The laughter fades away as he gets his first sight of Castiel so close to naked. 

There are only Castiel’s plain white boxers between the two of them and skin-on-skin contact. Dean’s cock twitches again, rising to the occasion. Dean can see that the material of Castiel’s boxers is tented in the front. Obviously Castiel is as eager as he is for them to move their bond to the next stage. 

Dean hooks his fingers into the waistband of Castiel’s boxers and slowly rolls them down. Castiel breathes deeply. His cock springs free. Dean’s never been this close to another man’s cock. He never touched before. It was never something he wanted to do but now all he can think about is falling to his knees and taking Castiel in his mouth. 

“Dean,” Castiel says, his voice huskier than Dean has ever heard it before. He glances up at Castiel, sees Castiel’s eyes hooded and filled with lust. 

“Bed,” Dean says. 

They tumble on to the bed, both of them fighting to get there first, to be the one waiting to take the other one in his arms. They fall in a tangle, legs entwined, chest against chest, their cocks pressed tightly together. For a moment, they just lie there, breathing each other in. Dean is surprised by how natural this feels. He liked what he did at the bar, he liked the control he had over Jimmy and maybe, once or twice, he’d like that control over Castiel but he likes this too. He likes the fact that there is a struggle, a determination that they will both be on an equal footing with the other. 

He reaches down, making a loose fist around their cocks and Castiel copies him, his own hand covering Dean’s. Dean grins at him, starting to move his hand up and down. He jumps right in, no slow build up, the double-pressure of both their hands making the friction just that much more intense. Castiel gasps, his eyes fluttering closed. Dean leans forward, kissing him as he works his fist over their cocks. Castiel tries to help, tries to move with him but he gets lost in the sensation. 

He bucks and squirms, pushing into Dean’s fist and rubbing up against his cock. It’s kind of beautiful to watch him come apart like this. Castiel has always been so controlled but now Dean can see how he looks when he sheds that control and Dean likes it. He likes everything about Castiel. He likes the hungry little moans he makes. He likes the way Castiel smells – so earthy and delicious, like grass after a storm. He likes that Castiel is enjoying himself so much and doesn’t feel the need to try and hide it. 

Watching Castiel pushes him to the edge. He’s got more stamina than Castiel, but not by much, not now. He’s been waiting to hold Castiel for so long, dreaming of loving him and, now it’s happening, Dean can’t hold back. He still makes sure Castiel comes first. He watches every moment of it. Castiel is so beautiful as he comes. He parts his lips, gasps Dean’s name, screws his eyes up tight and Dean finds himself following hot on Castiel’s heels. He keeps his eyes open, keeps watching Castiel’s face. 

This orgasm doesn’t leave him feeling sick with guilt in its wake. Dean feels released, free. The knot of tension that sat in the pit of his stomach is gone and he feels good for the first time in a very long time. He feels safe, safe enough to relax in Castiel’s arms. 

“I love you,” he murmurs, pressing kisses to Castiel’s jaw.

Castiel opens his eyes, drawing in a deep breath.

“Can we do that again? Can we do more?” he asks. 

Dean almost laughs. 

“We can do anything you want,” he promises. 

**

Things change after that. The half-life Dean lived before, the better life that made him miserable, is over. Sam finishes his night course and passes his bar exam. He takes a job in a local office so he can stay close to Dean. The work isn’t taxing and Sam is helping people he knows, people he sees on the street. It makes him happy. 

Charlie and Gilda are firm fixtures in Dean’s life. He goes to their house for dinner once a week. They come to his every other Saturday. Gilda doesn’t lose the trivia challenge game any longer. Castiel, despite repeat viewings of Star Wars, takes that crown. 

Dean can’t get over how normal his life feels now Castiel is in it. He loves waking up with Castiel in the morning. He loves arguing with him in the supermarket, loves complaining that Castiel hasn’t done the dishes like he promised. He even loves Castiel’s cat. He doesn’t know what he feared would happen if he admitted this love. Maybe it was the fear of the unknown that Dean couldn’t face or maybe it was the fear of something new? Whatever it was, Dean avoided knowing this part of himself for too long. 

Sometimes he sees Jimmy when he’s out and about with Castiel. They don’t talk to each other, but they do acknowledge each other. He hugs Castiel close to him, says a silent thank you to the other man. Jimmy is almost always joined by a smart, hurried look man in a business suit. He puts his hand on the small of Jimmy’s back, guides him towards wherever it is they’re going, his head bowed as he continues a conversation that’s for their ears only.

Jimmy always meets Dean’s eye and mouths ‘thank you’ back.


End file.
